


The Thistle and the Rose

by the_actual_letter_n



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Folk Music, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nightmares, Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Singing, Survivor Guilt, absolute indulgence, be the niche content you want to see in the world, beta? dont know her, i am not to be held accountable for my love of folk songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24982156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_actual_letter_n/pseuds/the_actual_letter_n
Summary: "X'rhun only laughed. "Nothing escapes you, eh, my friend?" He shook his head, but his eyes were warm. "I was asleep, indeed, though I wouldn't say I got much rest. I'm sure you of all people know how easily one can fall prey to one's own mind."In which A'thalu overhears a melody.
Relationships: Arya Gastaurknan & Warrior of Light, X'rhun Tia & Warrior of Light
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	The Thistle and the Rose

A'thalu had always had a good eye for people's habits.

Arya, for example, chewed on her lip when she was frustrated. A'thalu first spotted her doing it when they practiced white magic together and her spells kept fizzling out into mist. From then on, they caught sight of it more often, during training or when she tried and failed to recall her past, and when they did, they tried their best to uplift her. She also took meticulous care of her new rapier, almost mechanically cleaning and polishing it after so much as a single thrust at a training dummy. X'rhun teased her about it, saying she's as likely to blind her foe with the sheen of her blade as she is to cut them, but he encouraged her nonetheless, teaching them both about how to maintain their new weapons.

He, too, had his share of mannerisms, like the way he'd always put his hat on front first, or how he started his stretches with the wrists. When deep in thought, he would run his thumb across the tips of their fingers, back and forth in a smooth, soothing motion. A'thalu found themself doing the same sometimes. It grounded them.

The most obvious, however, of X'rhun's habits was that he sang. Always quietly, and never for long, but near-constantly whenever he was idle. He'd hum a few bars of a drinking song when waiting for service at the Coffer and Coffin. Or a Gridanian battle song when cleaning his own weapon. Or an adventurers' ballad while stoking a fire, his voice barely audible over the chirping of desert night-beasts and the sound of cracking wood.

But he hummed one melody more often than others; slower and simpler than the rest. A'thalu didn't know it, but they very quickly learned to recognize it; not by the minor notes or the smoothly repeating phrase, but by the change in X'rhun's voice. A'thalu couldn't quite put their finger on it, but it was there. A subtle, familiar warmth, similar to when he told them about Alisaie, or of stories from his days with the Crimson Duelists.

It was that song that had stuck itself in A'thalu's mind on one of the many nights they were struggling to sleep. They hadn't been able to properly rest since Ishgard, at least, and that night was no different. The wind didn't help, stabbing its chilling fingers through their clothes, nor did the hard, cold ground on which they laid. The tavern where night had caught the three mages was full to the last bed and no amount of gil could buy them a space better than the back yard. Still, A'thalu thought it better than sleeping in the wild. The yard was guarded by a palisade, spiked here and there with torches that cast a weak, fluttering glow across the packed dirt. In the middle, a circle of polished stones kept safe the remnants of the fire around which they were all gathered.

Arya was fast asleep, even though the cold had bothered her more than the others. A’thalu had given her their coat when they noticed her shivering; in return X’rhun offered them his. Some time later, while re-packing their backpack to make it more comfortable a pillow, they found a jacked they’d forgotten about and pestered X’rhun until he accepted it. It somehow didn't occur to either of them to simply swap again and wear their own clothes. Now X'rhun's motionless silhouette stood out starkly against the dark, outlined by the ivory white fabric of the jacket. Warm light glinted weakly on the steel cufflinks.

A’thalu closed their eyes. They tried to focus on breathing and not hear the thousands of tiny sounds that the desert was alive with. There were insects somewhere, their whining buzzing carrying on the wind. In the tavern, someone was also awake, shifting in their creaking bed. The wind whispered an irregular rhythm. The firewood crackled.

Then, a sudden rustle. A’thalu suppressed a start. They opened one eye, every so slightly so the light didn’t reflect in their iris. Ambush? Or beasts? Or someone from the tavern coming to rob them? They didn’t move, preserving the element of surprise.

Across from them, on the other side of the campfire, X’rhun was sitting up. The light didn’t reach his face but there was no doubt that he was awake, his hands wrapped around one another in a death grip, visible even in the half-darkness. A’thalu could hear his breathing, heavy, measured, and deliberate.

He stood up soundlessly, picked up his weapon and walked off. A’thalu opened both eyes and risked craning their head to observe him. He didn’t go towards the privy, or the tavern’s door, where a barrel of water stood with wooden cups for the travelers. He slipped out from the palisade's safety and disappeared into the dark, towards the desert.

A’thalu pushed themself up. They glanced at Arya, but she hadn’t stirred. They wondered briefly whether they should just leave X’rhun to his own matters, but they were up before they even finished the thought. They wrapped themself in his coat and gathered their own weapon. It made no difference to think that he had already roamed half of Eorzea by his lonesome and was more than capable of handling himself. A’thalu couldn’t reason with the pinprick of worry that kindled in his mind. Maybe because it wasn’t safety they were worried about.

Cold bit their cheeks when they left the warm circle of the fire’s light. The night was brighter than most, the moon’s silver sickle illuminating the overbearingly empty landscape of Thanalan. Sparse trees reached up into the sky with their heavy canopies, silhouetted in pitch black. A path ran up a hill which gently rose up higher and higher until suddenly A'thalu found themself at the top of a cliff. A crooked wooden fence snaked along the jagged edge, missing at least half of its planks. And ahead, behind the fence and far closer to the edge than A'thalu thought reasonable, sat a lone figure. Moonlight played on the white feather of its hat and the wind carried a voice humming a simple, wistful melody.

A'thalu froze in place, conflicted. They wanted to hear more of the song, more than the overheard fragments they knew it from. But it felt wrong somehow, like an invasion of privacy. Like walking in on something that was not meant for their, or anybody else's ears.

They shuffled their feet, announcing their presence. X'rhun's tail flicked across the ground and the melody stopped. He turned and tipped up the brim of his hat, allowing moonlight to glint in his eyes.

"My apologies," he said with an easy smile. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," they replied. They approached and sat down next to him, on their heels. Their ears flattened slightly. "I brought your coat," they said awkwardly.

"You can keep it on, if you're cold."

"I'm not."

"Much obliged, then." X'rhun accepted the coat and shook it to clear off the sand. He kept the buttons undone, despite the chill of the wind. He asked: "Trouble sleeping?"

A'thalu relaxed. With him, they never had to worry about not knowing what to say. They weren't sure why he was so easy to talk to, but they were grateful for it. "Aye," they said.

"That makes two of us, then. I thought it more productive to take a stroll than lay there stark awake all night."

"You did sleep, though," A'thalu said and quickly bit their tongue. That was an invasive thing to say, wasn't it?

But X'rhun only laughed. "Nothing escapes you, eh, my friend?" He shook his head, but his eyes were warm. "I was asleep, indeed, though I wouldn't say I got much rest. I'm sure you of all people know how easily one can fall prey to one's own mind."

They nodded. "Dreams?"

"Persistent fiends, are they not? No matter how much you expect them, you can never quite predict them."

There was a moment of silence in which the wind picked up its whistle. A'thalu said: "Tell me about it."

"Ah, it's a sorry tale. " X'rhun waved his hand dismissively. "Hardly worth the words."

"Still."

His smile changed ever so slightly, took on a hint of the same wistfulness A'thalu had heard in his song. But when he spoke, his voice was light:

"Well, I told you of the Ala Mhigan civil war and of the fall of the Crimson Duelists. I did not tell you that I had a somewhat more… personal involvement in the fight against the mad king Theodric. Namely that I had a mind to assassinate him."

A'thalu blinked. X'rhun turned his head to the sky, face shielded from moonlight by the brim of his hat. "It was right after Lambard's betrayal. I had found my friends slaughtered, their murderer long gone. All our grand hopes of liberating our people were shattered before we could even take up our blades, before we made a single strike at the tyrant. And so, thinking I would be honouring their memory, I went to storm the castle by my lonesome."

He shook his head. "I didn't even get close to the throne room, of course. I barely made it past the main gate. I cut down twenty three of the guard before they overcame and captured me. I was tried for insurgency and left to rot in the king's prison until such a time they decided a fitting date for my exemplary execution. It was largely by accident that I was freed, to be frank, by another cell of freedom fighters. They were breaking out a group of their own and they happened to be held in the same dungeon as I was. By luck I made it out with them, but really, by logic, I should not have walked out of there."

He fell quiet for a long moment and A'thalu did not interrupt. But their thoughts lingered on his phrasing, on the words "should not". They thought about Alphinaud, suddenly, and his shoulds and woulds; about their own dreams and how it felt to be the one who did not die. They ran their thumb across their fingertips.

They struggled to think of a response, but again, X'rhun spoke first: "There you have it." He shrugged slightly. "Echos of pointless actions past, ever ready to haunt you at night."

"It wasn't pointless," A'thalu said. "You were fighting for freedom."

"Not that time, I wasn't. That time I was a foolish youth blinded by loss and anger, seeking vengeance at what I thought was the ultimate evil. Thinking back, they should have left me in that prison until I gained at least a semblance of sense." He chuckled.

"Don't say that."

X'rhun turned to them and his smile faded at their expression. He sighed and shook his head again. "It was a morbid joke, I admit. I apologize."

A'thalu knew that he wasn't joking. But they didn't have to say it. He'd said it himself: nothing did escape them.

"You should have heard some of what passed as humour around the campfires of Ala Mhigo," he said suddenly. He didn't want the silence to linger, A'thalu realized. "Dreadful things we laughed at. Even our victory songs seem grim when recalled now."

"I've heard one of them," they said. By the Gods, they'd do what they could to help him feel as comfortable talking to them as they did to him. "In Little Ala Mhigo. It begun with "The leaves of the willow weep no more…" "

" _Adorned, they're adorned with hangmen!_ " X'rhun sang and then burst out laughing. "Aye, I'm not surprised that one survived the years. Such vivid imagery. Another favourite, much less suitable for polite company, told of "all the seven hells, where we'll send the Mad King…"

"I've heard you hum that before." A'thalu couldn't help a smile of their own. "In company."

"Well, they needn't know the story behind it, now do they?"

They chuckled. It was so easy. Encouraged by how freely he'd intoned the melodies, they asked: "What of the song you hummed tonight? What is the story behind that?"

X'rhun's expression softened, his smile taking on a hint of something distant.

"It isn't a victory song," he said after a while. "You wouldn't have heard it in battle, or along marching lines. It belonged around dying fires, in the mouths of beaten men."

"You sing it a lot," A'thalu said.

"Aye, I suppose."

He leaned back onto his hands. Moonlight finally reached his face, making his bone white skin look even paler. "It does make me think of home."

A'thalu followed his gaze, up to the ink-black sky, painted with a thousand glinting constellations.

"Would you sing it for me?" they asked.

X'rhun turned to them. There was barely a heartbeat of something complex crossing his face and then his lips quirked up again in an easy, comfortable smile. He looked out into the desert, towards the looming, ink-black shapes of distant mountains and for a moment the only sound in the cold air was the hiss of wind.

Then he begun:

_The river takes my thistle wreath_   
_The ivory roses bloom_   
_You promised me, my dear, that you'd be back before the moon_   
_But I can see the fires raging on the castle wall_   
_I fear, will you return to me at all?_

His voice was low, rough and unpolished around the higher notes. His usually faint accent seemed to grow stronger as he sang, and so did the tone of almost overbearing weariness in his cadence, something far beyond a missed night of sleep. Something that called forth the image of dying fires. And the melody, the slow, wistful tune that A'thalu had grown so familiar with, sounded somehow more mournful still when reunited with its words.  
They sat still as a statue, listening. Enraptured.

_I ask the thistle at my feet_   
_I ask the rose's thorn_   
_How many paths my love has walked the winters he's been gone?_   
_How many nights he's spent beneath the stars to which I call:_   
_I ask, will he return to me at all?_

_I cast a thistle and a rose_   
_Into the river's roil_   
_My love has spilled his pint of blood for this beloved soil_   
_And so I'll tread the paths he walked and where he did I'll fall_   
_I know he won't return to me at all_

In the silence that fell, not even the wind dared whisper. X'rhun's head tipped down and the shadow claimed his face in full.

"It's called "The Thistle and the Rose"," he said. "Out of all the songs of my homeland, this one is the clearest in my memory."

"It's beautiful," A'thalu whispered.

"Aye."

They could hear his smile when he said that.

They didn't want to say anything else. The song still rang in their ears and they wanted to keep it there, to memorize it. So they sat in silence, eyes wandering the desert landscape, enveloped in silence and the comfort of X'rhun's presence beside them. They were completely, blissfully calm.

They shifted eventually, stretching out their numbed legs. They leaned their back against the rickety fence and once again looked out into the greyscale horizon. Once again, the sounds of the desert swam all around them like a night-time symphony. But this time, there was also a familiar, wistful melody, wordless once again, carried forth by the whistling wind.

When they awoke, they were once again wrapped in X'rhun's coat.

**Author's Note:**

> *looks at any fictional conflict ever* But what if it had folk songs


End file.
